


Running all around this empty town

by ohnoscarlett



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Language, NC-17 (sex, angst?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: Brendon is oblivious, and kind of an ass, but Spencer and Ryan set him straight.





	Running all around this empty town

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[kueble](http://kueble.livejournal.com/). Creative license regarding personal geography (who lives where) and, of course, that this isn't at all real. Beta by [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[cloudlessclimes](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/),[](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[kueble](http://kueble.livejournal.com/), [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/), and [](http://penceyprepster.livejournal.com/profile)[penceyprepster](http://penceyprepster.livejournal.com/), or essentially everyone who would read this anyway.

**Running All Around This Empty Town**  
**Band:** Panic! at the Disco, The Young Veins  
**Pairing(s):** Jon/Brendon, Ryan/Spencer  
**Word Count:** 4794  
**Rating/Warnings:** NC-17 (sex, language, angst?)  
**Summary:** Brendon is oblivious, and kind of an ass, but Spencer and Ryan set him straight.  
**Author's Notes:** Prompt from [](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[**kueble**](http://kueble.livejournal.com/). Creative license regarding personal geography (who lives where) and, of course, that this isn't at all real. Beta by [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[**cloudlessclimes**](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/) ,[](http://kueble.livejournal.com/profile)[ **kueble**](http://kueble.livejournal.com/) , [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://penceyprepster.livejournal.com/profile)[**penceyprepster**](http://penceyprepster.livejournal.com/), or essentially everyone who would read this anyway.

Prompt:

"I've been running all around this empty town  
Where the brightest blues and greens just turn to brown  
But it feels new, because I'm so in love with you"  
Sherwood - Alive  
  


Brendon stood at the corner of The Strip and Tropicana. He stared at the MGM, wanting to go inside, but not. Jon loved the MGM. He dragged one of them there every time they were in town, just to see the damn lions.

To Brendon, the lions always seemed sad.

Brendon was _not_ going inside to commiserate with the fucking lions.

Jon was gone.

And—and Brendon didn’t really know what to do about that. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to feel.

He really didn’t know why this was becoming an issue.  
  
He didn’t.

Brendon was… Brendon. He was young; he was single; he was a fucking rock star. That led to a whole list of other things Brendon was, or could be, and most of them were true. Sure, he was kind of flighty. _He was twenty-two! How serious was he supposed to be?_ So he drank a little, smoked a little, had incredibly amazing amounts of sex…

He really didn’t see how this was a problem.

Really.

Brendon dragged a hand through his hair and scowled. He spared one more glance at the hotel’s façade, then turned on his heel and stomped back to his car with his hands shoved in his pockets and his lip caught between his teeth.

Brendon was a simple guy. His car was black, and it was shiny, and it went fast. These things made him happy. It was no surprise to him that cruising north on the freeway at 85 was calming and exhilarating at the same time. And, to be honest, a little bit of a turn-on.

Seriously. He was twenty-two. Pretty much everything got him hot.

It happened.

Brendon didn’t have a problem with that.

Apparently, Brendon had a problem with Jon. And apparently, his method of dealing with it was to grind his teeth and press down harder on the accelerator. If Jon could leave Vegas, so could he.

Brendon didn’t go far. When he stopped, he looked around and found himself surrounded by Joshua trees on the lower slopes of Mount Charleston.

 _Of course_.

Brendon would kick his subconscious’ ass if he ever got the chance. Damn thing could be such a girl. He needed to man up, get on with it, go along how he always did.

Searching out all the things Jon loved about Vegas was not helping this process.

Pebbles skittered into the darkness as Brendon spun the car around to descend once more into the heat of the city.

Brendon thought as he drove. He didn’t tend to be overly introspective. He wasn’t _Ryan_ , for goodness sake. One like Ryan was plenty. But he thought as he drove.

***

Jon had looked… hurt. Surprised. Disgusted. He looked at Brendon under the glaring lights of The Strip, and hadn’t said a word. He looked at Brendon and he looked at the girl Brendon was with and his face just kind of went… closed. He dipped his head and made a dismissive gesture and turned around and walked away.

The girl had laughed a little and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention back. Brendon shrugged her off and went to follow Jon. Out of curiosity, mostly. He heard the girl scoff behind him, and he resisted the urge to flip her off. He waved her away instead.

Jon had been nearly half a block ahead of him when Brendon caught sight of him again. But Brendon was quick, and soon he had been able to reach out and grasp Jon’s elbow. It had startled him. As much as what Jon then said to him.

“I can’t _do_ this, Brendon.”

Brendon had stopped in his tracks, his grip still firm on Jon’s arm.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be—“ and Jon sighed, shook his head, wouldn’t look Brendon in the eye. “I can’t sit back and watch you go off and… I can’t fuck around, Brendon. I can’t. I thought—“ Jon shook his head again, as if to clear it. “I was wrong.”

“You lost me…”

“No,” Jon had said softly. “I never had you to begin with.”

Brendon watched his back as he walked away.

***

So the problem here was ultimately that Brendon was something of an opportunist. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. He saw an opportunity _to get laid_ , and he took it. It happened.

It happened a lot.

Brendon wasn’t overly discriminating.

He probably should have kept it to the general public, though. Far, far away from his band. _Far_ away. Although really, his band _was_ incredibly attractive.

But Spencer kind of scared him. In that _I am bigger than you and can hurt you quite badly if you fuck with me_ kind of way.

Brendon had no intention of fucking with Spencer.

 _None_.

And Ryan… Ryan was just—untouchable. Brendon couldn’t do it. Ryan was soft and sweet and smelled nice and liked to cuddle. Brendon liked to cuddle. Sure, _after a fuck_. Or with Ryan. You know, whenever.

Ryan adored Brendon. It was mutual. And Brendon intended to keep it that way.

Even if Ryan _was_ hiding a fantastic ass in those weird, old man pants…

 _Couldn’t do it_.

Brent had been strictly, aggressively heterosexual and just not even an option.

 _Ok, then_.

But Jon? Jon, on the other hand, Jon had seemed amenable to Brendon’s action plan. He hugged. He flirted. He groped inappropriately. Brendon was totally on board.

And when Brendon upped the casual groping into a handjob and a reciprocating blowjob? Well, that was just fantastic, wasn’t it? Great for those nights when they were either in the middle of nowhere or just too dead exhausted to go out looking. Very convenient, really.

***

Brendon drove toward home. He needed to figure some shit out, and it was just as easily done in his house. His stuff was still over at Ryan’s, but it wasn’t like half of Ryan’s crap wasn’t at Brendon’s, either. It was no wonder that Brendon never knew where anything was.

It was a really long drive, though.

He got bored.

He called Ryan.

“What?” Ryan snapped. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“No?” Brendon ventured. “Does it really matter?”

“Not really,” Ryan said with a sigh. “But I _was_ asleep.”

“You were asleep?” Brendon chortled gleefully. “ _You got laid!_ Who’s there?”

“I hate you.”

And Ryan hung up on him.

Brendon took the next exit and turned back toward Vegas. He could do his sorting while he tormented Ryan. Two birds with one stone, really.

***

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Brendon pulled into Ryan’s driveway back in Vegas. Brendon smiled to himself. He loved it when he caught Ryan in the act, more or less. It embarrassed the hell out of him.

Brendon was really, really surprised to see Spencer lounging on the sofa, cradling a cup of coffee on his belly.

Spencer nodded his acknowledgement of Brendon’s presence before he reached over to place his coffee safely on the table. Brendon watched as he stood and stretched, reaching toward the ceiling. Brendon had enough time to admire the long lines of Spencer's body before Spencer swiftly and smoothly kneed him in the balls. Brendon fell to the floor with a grunt, his head bouncing off the side of the couch.  
  
"Why did you do that?" he gasped breathlessly.  
  
"Think about it!" Spencer snapped. Spencer glared at Brendon for just a moment before he bent and scooped up his mug, then he stalked away, back toward Ryan's room. Brendon snickered in spite of himself.  
  
***

Brendon was sitting at Ryan's kitchen table when he and Spencer emerged. Brendon couldn't suppress a smirk and Spencer presented him with a face that could sour milk. Ryan just rolled his eyes.  
  
"I think--" Brendon began.  
  
"Oh really?" asked Spencer mockingly.  
  
"Periodically," Ryan offered. Brendon smiled sweetly at him.  
  
"With something other than his dick?" Spencer continued. Ryan snorted into his coffee and Brendon frowned at them both.  
  
"May I continue, or are you just going to keep on mocking me?"  
  
"Well, if those are our options..." Spencer considered. Ryan elbowed him in the side.  
  
"Let him talk, Spence," he said, looking up through long eyelashes. Spencer visibly softened, ducking his head briefly before returning his gaze to Brendon and jerking his chin. Brendon stored that little interaction for later use.  
  
"So. Talk."  
  
Brendon swallowed thickly.  
  
"I think I may have made a mistake," he said.  
  
"Just one?" Spencer fired back.  
  
" _Spence_ ," Ryan chided. Spencer frowned, but settled back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed together tightly.  
  
"Yeah. Um, Jon. I didn't realize--"  
  
"That you were in a relationship? That it wasn't just a Thing?" Spencer hissed. Ryan laid a hand on his arm. "It was obvious if you would have pulled your head out of your ass. There were a lot of things going on under your nose that you didn't seem to notice."  
  
"Apparently," Brendon replied slowly. He looked at Ryan and Spencer appraisingly. "How long?"  
  
"For you?" asked Spencer.  
  
"Or us?" Ryan continued.  
  
"Both, I guess," said Brendon with a shrug.  
  
"Months. Maybe a year," said Spencer. Brendon looked at him, alarmed.  
  
"Always," said Ryan, so softly Brendon barely heard him. Maybe he wasn't supposed to.  
  
***

"He's not answering his phone!" Brendon whined, shrill. Ryan rolled his eyes and flipped open his own cell.  
  
"Jon. Hey. No. You home? Yeah. No. Tell Tom to fuck off. No. No," Ryan sighed and rolled his eyes again. "No. Ok. Later, man." Brendon was practically hopping up and down, waiting for Ryan to end his call.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"He doesn't want to talk to you," Ryan stated bluntly.  
  
"Yes, I get that," Brendon snapped.  
  
"But he's home." Ryan paused, and Brendon flapped his hands for more. "In Chicago."  
  
"But--" Spencer cut off Brendon's whining with a sharp smack to the side of the head.  
  
" _Go to Chicago, fuckhead_ ," Spencer hissed. Brendon opened and closed his mouth several times without anything coming out.  
  
***  
  
Three hours later, Brendon found himself in an aisle seat on a 727 with only his wallet and cell phone. And Spencer and Ryan. Spencer had taken it upon himself to go online and order the tickets after Ryan had gotten off the phone, and had consequently seen fit to include himself (and Ryan). " _As backup, you pussy_." So there it was.  
  
Not only was Brendon caught between Ryan and Spencer--literally, because they refused to sit next to each other on an aircraft (for various reasons that Brendon had never cared nor bothered to listen to,) but also between pouting and panic. The panicking was obvious. He was supposed to get off this plane in Chicago and go _talk_ to Jon about his _feelings_ for fuck sake. Or something. Brendon honestly had no idea what he was going to do once he touched ground again. The pouting was Ryan's fault. Fucker had calmly sat down, buckled himself in, turned to Brendon and said:  
  
"Don't fuck up my band."  
  
And then popped in his earbuds and promptly fell asleep. Brendon hadn't even had a chance to open his mouth.  
  
_Don't fuck up my band?_ Seriously? _Seriously?_ After Africa, after Coke, after fucking _After_ , when Ryan and Jon unceremoniously, oh, _fucked up the band?_ Yeah. Brendon didn't know what to do with that statement. Don't fuck up my band. Right. A little late for that. Spencer could probably hear the gears turning in his head; either that or the grumbling and grinding of his teeth, because after a few moments Spencer reached over and grasped Brendon's wrist firmly.  
  
"Look," he said, more gently than he had at all that day. It made Brendon still, and focus on him; less on smacking the shit out of Ross. Spencer was good at that. "I know. I know how it is to have your--the one you--" he paused, scowling. "Somebody important... you know, leave you hanging." Spencer looked pointedly at Ryan, still blessedly asleep on Brendon's other side. "But just because he's not ours anymore doesn't mean he's not still yours."  
  
"I didn't know, Spence," Brendon mumbled into his hoodie. He took a deep breath before raising his chin and facing Spencer. "I didn't know."  
  
"Now you do," Spencer replied matter-of-factly before releasing Brendon and settling back into his seat. Brendon rubbed his wrist absently and imagined creative ways to make Ryan pay.  
  
***  
  
Spencer shook Brendon awake when they reached O'Hare. It startled him that he had actually fallen asleep, and it irritated him that Ryan was already awake and looking ready to go. Brendon still just wanted to lay one good one on him to be satisfied. He wouldn't though, not Ryan. For as much tussling as they all did, every one of them pulled their punches with Ryan. It soothed Brendon's raised hackles, to remember. He caught Spencer watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he knew that Spencer knew what was swirling around in his head. The smirk didn't help.  
  
They made something of a land speed record getting into a taxi. It was a wonder what travelling without luggage could do for you. Of course, the lack of a toothbrush and underwear might become problematic later.  
  
Brendon could feel his extremities turning cold the closer they got to Jon's, and it wasn't the weather. Well, the weather wasn't the only thing.  
  
***  
  
Tom opened the door.  
  
"Whoa," he said, surprised. "I am not sticking around for this. Jonny, I gotta run!" the last bit yelled over his shoulder as Tom opened the door wide and hip-checked Spencer out of his way.  
  
"Fucker," Spencer grumbled amiably.  
  
"Yep. Adios," Tom saluted the three of them as he hastily made his exit down the stairs.  
  
"We'll hang with you later!" Ryan called down the hall. Tom's faint "uh-huh" wafted over them as Jon appeared in the entry.  
  
"My trust in you seems to have been misguided," Jon said quietly, looking at Ryan with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He ignored Spencer and Brendon.  
  
"Can we come in?" Ryan asked, and it was almost perky. Well, for Ryan. Jon didn't answer, just shifted slightly and raised his chin. Ryan took that for a "yes" and made himself at home. Spencer smiled after him, transferring it easily to Jon. Jon nodded, and Spencer strode past him, reaching for Ryan's elbow and propelling him further into Jon's apartment. It left Brendon alone in the hall, facing Jon. Jon didn't say a word, merely inclined his head and gestured toward the others resignedly. Brendon took it as a win.  
  
Inside Jon's apartment it was warm. The animals immediately swarmed on Spencer and Ryan, and it was funny how the cats honed in on Ryan, whose fastidious nature had him picking cat hair off his blazer fussily within minutes, even while he stroked and chatted at them. Spencer grinned at him until he glanced up and caught a look at Jon. He stood aside, much as he had when he first saw them there, arms crossed and closed in on himself. He looked quite unlike his usual self, all forlorn and pale, with dark circles under his eyes.  
  
Brendon hovered near Ryan and Spencer, unsure as to his course of action. He turned cold again when Spencer straightened and looked at him before turning to speak to Jon.  
  
"We're going to get a hotel room." At his tone, Ryan set down Clover and brushed himself off. "I'll call you in a while. One of us will call." Ryan nodded in agreement, moving once again toward the door. He raised his fist to bump against Jon's companionably before he almost-but-not-quite hugged him on the way out. It was weird. It was Ryan. Spencer passed Brendon with a big whack to the back of the head. They shared silent scowls for a moment before Spencer moved on and clapped Jon on the shoulder. They were almost out the door before Jon spoke.  
  
"Aren't you taking him with you?" he asked. Brendon stiffened. He hated when people acted as if he wasn't even there.  
  
"No," Spencer replied simply, and closed the door behind them.  
  
***  
  
They stood in Jon's living room not looking at each other for a long time. Not looking, and not talking. It was eerie. Jon finally moved, but it was just to turn away and go into the kitchen. Brendon watched as he set out things for coffee. It seemed like maybe it could be a good sign.  
  
"I'm sorry," Brendon said, soft enough that he wasn't sure Jon heard him. Soft enough to be ashamed of himself. He was gutless.  
  
Ceramic clinked on tile, catching his attention. Jon clenched a mug in his fist. His head hung low between his shoulders as he leaned his weight against the countertop, the coffee forgotten. Brendon took a hesitant step forward, but stopped in his tracks when Jon's eyes slid onto him. Jon was angry.  
  
"I wanted to throw things," he said. "I wanted to break things; grind glass into the carpet. But I didn't." He paused, and the hot look in his eyes shifted into something cooler, sadder. Brendon bit his lip until it hurt. "I didn't," Jon continued, "because I'm not going to wreck what I have over you. You're not--"  
  
"Jon, _please_ ," Brendon closed the distance between them, placing a tentative hand on Jon's arm. He shook him off.  
  
"No. You're not--"  
  
"Please, just let me explain, Jon." Brendon's hands fluttered between them, aching to touch Jon, but afraid of being rejected again.  
  
"I want to punch you in your damn pretty face," Jon growled as he whirled around to face him. Brendon took a half step back, startled. "But I couldn't. I couldn't ever hurt you like that. I couldn't hurt you like you hurt me." Jon hurled the mug into the sink, shattering it. He turned to glance back at the jagged shards before shouldering past Brendon, going into his bedroom and shutting the door.  
  
***  
  
Brendon sat on the floor outside Jon's bedroom and waited. He didn't know what exactly he was waiting for, but he was prepared for his ass to be numb before it happened. Marley joined him after a little while, cuddling up with his head in Brendon's lap. The cats were apparently on Jon's side.  
  
Brendon couldn't hear anything happening inside the room. He had no idea what Jon could be doing with himself in there. He jumped and banged his head against the wall when his phone beeped, alerting him of a text message from Spencer. He imagined a corresponding beep from the bedroom, but he honestly had no idea where Jon's phone could be, or if Spencer had even texted him. Brendon barely skimmed the message before firing off "thx" in response and intentionally thumping his skull on the wall a few times.  
  
Part of his problem, Brendon knew, was that he got bored rather easily. Not that he had ever been bored with Jon--no, that had been a misunderstanding on his part. But he was bored out of his fucking mind trying to wait out Jon's silent treatment. Jon's old acoustic fairly beckoned to him from across the apartment.  
  
Marley grumbled sleepily when Brendon nudged him off his leg. Various joints cracked and popped as he stood, then hobbled woodenly over to where Jon's guitar lay. Brendon grasped it around the neck delicately, smiling to himself as he often did when he had an instrument in his hands.  
  
He had a plan.  
  
***  
  
" _Missed your skin when you were East. You--_ "  
  
The door cracked open and Jon's face appeared, taking in Brendon, who sat once again on the floor outside the bedroom. He didn't say anything, so Brendon closed his mouth. Jon looked down at him with a mixture of irritation, fondness, and exasperation. Brendon raised a hopeful eyebrow. Jon's was skeptical.  
  
"Seriously? You're going to sit out here and sing our own songs at me?" Jon leaned against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. Brendon looked up at him and shrugged.  
  
"I don't know how to do anything else," he replied softly. Jon sighed.  
  
" _Brendon_." He shrugged again, cradling the guitar in his lap and stroking it absently.  
  
"I'm not going to defend my actions to you. I can't. My only excuse is that I didn't know, and it's a poor one at that."  
  
"You're right," said Jon. "It is. How could you not--" he cut himself off with a shake of the head. "I don't want to talk about this." Brendon's hand shot out to grasp Jon's ankle before he could turn away.  
  
"Jon, please. Let me--"  
  
"What?" Jon snapped. "What do you want from me?"  
  
"You." Jon slowly slid down the wall. He looked dazed. "I want _you_ ," Brendon repeated as he set down the guitar and got up on his knees. He reached for Jon, cupping his jaw and drawing himself closer. "Please, Jon, please. Let me--"  
  
"Let you what?" Jon wondered. Brendon kissed him.  
  
Jon let him.  
  
***  
  
Brendon kissed Jon's mouth, his jaw, moved down to mouth at his throat before Jon reacted. He jerked, batting at Brendon's grasping hands until he had a firm hold on his upper arms and yanked him away. His eyes were glassy and he was panting shallowly. There was color high on his cheeks, and Brendon wanted to touch it. Brendon didn't move though; he held still, waiting. He had made the first move; now it was up to Jon.  
  
Jon pushed him into the bedroom. Maybe not so much pushed as... tossed. One moment Brendon was on his knees at Jon's side. The next he was sprawled out across the floor on the complete other side. It was disorienting. Jon didn't tend to do things hastily. (This could have something to do with how long it took Brendon to figure out what was going on between them.) Jon was mellow. He rolled with things. Currently the only thing rolling was Brendon on the hardwood.  
  
Brendon watched as Jon stood and looked down on him. It made his skin prickle. It always had. Jon's eyes burned him. Brendon felt himself sliding, slipping down and spreading out on the floor, until Jon's eyes flicked over to the bed, and then Brendon was scrambling in his haste to get there instead.  
  
There were few words between them. (Another reason? Communication was not their strong suit.) They seemed to get the message across most times, though.  
  
Jon met Brendon at the foot of the bed, pressing a knee on the mattress between his bent legs and forcing Brendon further back. Brendon rested on his elbows, Jon looming over him. His heart raced. Anticipation. A little fear. Brendon could still feel the low buzz of anger just under Jon's skin. Jon wouldn't hurt him, Brendon knew, but there was just that little lingering hint, a possiblity, and frankly, it wasn't doing anything to diminish his state of arousal.  
  
Jon paused just for a moment, his eyes raking over Brendon in a way that he could practically feel. Brendon tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, and Jon took it as the invitation it was. His stubble rasped over sensitive skin and Brendon shuddered. Rough hands skimmed under his shirt, forcing Brendon to lie back completely to get it off, and awarding Jon another degree of control over the situation. Brendon let him have it.  
  
Brendon was stripped bare in less time than it usually took to put on his shoes. Jon's clothes joined his on the floor immediately thereafter. Brendon had come to Jon to apologize, to make up for the wrongs he had done, to do whatever he had to do. Vaguely angry sex was highly preferable to groveling.  
  
Jon rolled Brendon unceremoniously onto his belly. He squirmed, and Jon nudged him less-than-gently toward the head of the bed. Brendon went.  
  
" _Hold on_ ," Jon growled in Brendon's ear. He took Brendon's hands, one after the other, and curled them around the headboard himself, then he slithered back down Brendon's body and away. Brendon looked over his shoulder searchingly, but Jon had merely crossed to the further bedside table. Brendon rested his head on his arm and took a deep breath as Jon returned. They had done this before.  
  
No preamble. No pretense. Jon's fingers were just suddenly there. Brendon actually relaxed. They had done this before. Brendon knew what sort of partner Jon was. What sort of lover he was. Brendon knew what to expect, even if neither of them had ever been in this particular headspace before. Brendon was eager to please. And Jon... Well.  
  
Jon opened him up. Faster than usual, but Brendon still shook and whined and gripped the headboard until his knuckles whitened. Then Jon hauled him up to his knees. Jon pushed and pulled and arranged Brendon until he was exactly where he wanted him. Brendon knelt, still gripping the headboard, but nearly upright. Just enough leverage to arch his back and push out his ass. So he did.  
  
Jon's hand skimmed lightly down one cheek. It was all the warning he had before he was spread open and filled up. Jon entered him in one long thrust and it left Brendon gasping, breathless. They were still for a moment; Jon pressed along Brendon's back. He shifted a little and drew one hand slowly up along the line of Brendon's body from his hip to his chest. Brendon shivered, arching back further when Jon's arm tightened around him; throwing his head back on Jon's shoulder and letting his eyes drift shut. Jon shifted again, covering one of Brendon's hands with his own on the headboard. Then he started to move.  
  
It wasn't fast, but it was hard, and deep, and Jon's hips met Brendon's ass with every thrust. Tiny noises slipped from Brendon's mouth. Little _ah, ah, ah_ 's that matched Jon's pace. The arm that held him in place eventually relaxed, Jon's hand wandering down to stroke Brendon's neglected cock. Brendon keened softly when Jon gripped him and jerked roughly. His head rolled on Jon's shoulder, and when the space appeared, Jon leaned in and bit down hard at the base of his neck. Brendon stiffened and came over Jon's fingers without another sound.  
  
Jon quickly adjusted his position so that both of his hands covered Brendon's on the headboard. It made Brendon hunch down a little, the change in angle forcing the head of Jon's cock to hit Brendon's prostate perfectly; excruciating, too much. Brendon bore down against it, making Jon hiss and jerk, clutching at his hands. Brendon's come made their right hands slick, dripping slowly down Jon's wrist. Brendon's cock twitched, still mostly hard, and it surprised them both when he came again, overstimulated, and dragging Jon finally down with him.  
  
***  
  
They lay in Jon's bed for a long time, twisted together and panting. Brendon was cold when Jon peeled himself away and flopped down with an arm over his eyes. He missed Jon's heat, and hated that Jon was avoiding his gaze. Brendon curled in on himself, dejected.  
  
He jumped when Jon trailed warm fingers down his spine.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jon said softly. Brendon rolled to face him with his lip caught firmly between his teeth. He didn't want to say anything that was going to get him into trouble again, not until Jon had his say at least, so he just looked up at him with big eyes and let him continue. "I--I overreacted. We hadn't ever said--and I assumed, but you didn't..." Jon didn't really need to make sense for Brendon to understand him. It made something in his chest hurt, and he tentatively reached for Jon's hand across the space between them.  
  
"No," Brendon said, focusing on carefully stroking Jon's hand. "It wasn't your fault. I took advantage, and I ignored..." Brendon drew a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to--if I had known, I would have--"  
  
"What?" Jon interrupted. Brendon paused.  
  
"I don't know, actually," Brendon admitted resignedly. "But I came for you. I came as soon as I realized..." he trailed off into a whisper, pulling Jon's hand closer.  
  
"What?" Jon repeated, gentler.  
  
"That I couldn't lose you."  
  
"I don't want to play your game, Brendon," Jon said. "I can't."  
  
"Neither can I," said Brendon, quickly. "I meant what I said earlier. I want _you_. Just you."  
  
"Just me?" Jon teased. He smiled into his pillow, his lashes dark on his cheeks in the dim light. Brendon inched closer until he could press their foreheads together and trace Jon's jaw with his thumb.  
  
"Just you."


End file.
